


100% Authentic Russian Beef

by shadhahvar



Series: Yuri!!! On Crackfic [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Fade to Black, M/M, Surprise feelings, Tacos, Viktor Dresses Up as a Cow-Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: Yuuri mentions off-hand that he's been craving tacos.  Viktor takes that as a personal challenge and sets about rectifying this need.It escalates.





	100% Authentic Russian Beef

**Author's Note:**

  * For [argyros (argentumluna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentumluna/gifts).



> Inspired by [Luna's](http://argyros.tumblr.com/) artwork, as seen [here on Tumblr](http://argyros.tumblr.com/post/173018775672/to-my-new-followers-sorry-not-sorry-i-hope-you).
> 
> Thank you to [Rachel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrome), [izzyisozaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki), [Sen](https://twitter.com/punkwhitemocha), and [Kookyfan](https://twitter.com/kookyfan) for beta-reading and looking this over! (Further suggestions may mean future edits to this story.)

“Tacos.”

“Hmm?”

Yuuri looked over at Viktor, holding up a head of lettuce whose name he couldn’t quite pronounce, though he could at least now read it in Russian.

“Oh, just the weirdest thing. I’ve been craving tacos like the ones I used to get in Detroit lately.” He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, hands coming up from his sides. “I’d been trying to figure out what it was I wanted, and then I realised it’s tacos.”

Viktor canted his head to the side, resting the knuckle of his index finger against his chin. Tacos? The last time he’d had any was at a Mexican place in Barcelona, and not the most recent time he’d been there. Were tacos in the United States all that similar? Different countries adapted cuisines to suit their own tastes. Or to suit no one’s tastes as he and Yuuri had agreed when it came to Russian attempts at sushi.

“Tacos.” Viktor set the lettuce into his basket, his other hand still lingering at his chin. “I’m not sure I know any place for tacos that I can vouch for here in St. Petersburg, but we could always look.”

Yuuri smiled in the way Viktor recognised as fondness, his eyes softening and his shoulders relaxing a hair. “It’s fine, really. Thanks for thinking about it.” Keeping pace with Viktor as they moved down the displays of produce, Yuuri gestured toward one of the varieties of cabbage. “Exactly how many different ways are there to eat cabbage?”

Viktor recognised a redirect when he heard one, but he went along with it, hand falling away from his chin as he chuckled. “Oh, Yuuri. Are you sure you really want to know?”

* * *

The perplexing mystery of _United States Detroit Style Tacos_ haunted Viktor in unexpected moments for the following week. He researched recipes online, which led to searching for even more recipes, which led to searching for videos, which led, ultimately, to watching puppies play wrestling. Back-tracking to what was relevant, Viktor scrolled over tabs of information open in his browser. Recipes were all over the place, running a gambit of ingredients that sounded delicious to at times absurd. Not to mention there was the tortilla dilemma. Flour tortillas were apparently available in the big chain stores in St. Petersburg, but corn? Good luck.

What kinds of tacos did Yuuri even like?

That question ended up posed to Phichit, who replied by sending several images of a taco food truck in Detroit along with their menu. He only had one selfie attached, and Yuuri wasn’t in it; or he wasn’t if one didn’t recognise the fluttering end of a scarf and turned away head as the person on the edge of Phichit’s selfie looked out across the street instead of at the lens of the camera.

“Pork, chicken, beef... he’ll eat everything! You can get the really spicy salsa, he loved that, but you might have to make it? I’m not sure if they sell salsa worth anything where you are! This place made all their own, and their own tortillas, guacamole, everything. It was pretty good!”

Phichit’s helpful answer only opened up further avenues of questioning. Looking up guacamole meant encountering hundreds of variations. Salsa posed the same challenge; Viktor spent half an hour scrolling through recipes on one site alone, each one claiming to be more authentically Mexican than the last.

He ended up finding a food channel series with a young woman who cooked with her puppy, who slowly grew up into a dog over the course of the videos. He jotted down notes and read over her ingredient lists a handful of times, searching surreptitiously through the larger stores for what he didn’t have on hand. Spice-wise, that was half of what was required, but some ingredients like soy sauce (what did tacos need soy sauce for? He didn’t question it too hard) were already on hand, courtesy of Yuuri if not Viktor himself.

All of this filled in his spare moments and late night toilet visits when Yuuri was already in bed. Viktor had shopping lists and a few online purchases being sent to their flat. He’d hold off on his plans until the dried goods came in, hoping they made it past customs.

By the time they had, Viktor opened the box and was astounded to find his taco kit impulse buy paired with the much more sensible spices wasn’t what he thought it was. Pulling out the delivered blanket, he was further surprised at how soft the fleece fabric was. He’d never seen a gaudier blanket, with sewn on lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese, all on what he supposed was a large circular tortilla background.

Makkachin nosed at it where Viktor spread it out on the ground, pawing at one side and wagging her tail. She nipped at the curve and pulled on it, walking backward and trying to haul the taco blanket off toward the couch.

“Makkachin, drop it.” Viktor clapped his hands and stood, Makkachin reluctantly letting the blanket drop and ambling over to him, pressing her head under his hand. He scratched her head, running his fingers through the curls of her cheeks and praising her before he pulled her into a hug.

The blanket ended up stowed away in one of Viktor’s drawers. Now with the rest of his necessary spices on hand, Viktor poured over their combined schedules. He picked out an evening where Yuuri’s training at Lilia’s borrowed studio kept him out later than Viktor, their pattern well enough established by now that he could reasonably slip home early without Yuuri feeling concerned or abandoned. Makkachin did need walking, after all, and it would be Viktor’s usual night to cook, since he hadn’t been training them both into the ground all day long.

Everything was set. A run by the market in the days before let Viktor pick up the rest of the ingredients as fresh as he could manage. After he’d finished with Yakov and Yuuri at the rink, he’d kissed Yuuri goodbye, spent a good five _necessary_ minutes cuddling with him while going over his progress and reviewing a video of his last jump, then headed out with time to spare.

He had dinner cooking, meticulous with his measurements and playing his found saviour of a cooking series show while he went. Makkachin didn’t understand why their walk was shorter than normal, and she kept haunting the fringes of the kitchen area, but she settled after getting a special treat of wet food over rice with a dash of pumpkin.

Viktor felt like a chef as the smells of cooking food and spices wafted through the flat. He left off heating up the flour tortillas he’d found until closer to when they were going to eat.

The steak was marinated, cooked, and cut into bite-sized portions, the onion diced, the closest approximation to acceptable peppers roasted, the cheese (the much more expensive than he wanted to think about _cheese_ ) grated and waiting in a blue bowl. He’d made his own salsa after finding nothing but the mild stuff on sale at the store, and while it wasn’t as hot as he expected Yuuri was used to it being, he could at least guess it was hotter than _mild_. His guacamole had been the biggest trial, considering he’d bought the required avocados the week prior and left them to ripen in a brown bag also hidden in a drawer.

He hadn’t been sure that would work. Thankfully, it worked well enough that he had softened avocados for the guacamole, along with even more onion, coriander leaves, and whatever else he’d lost track of in the process. The only thing not in a neat bowl was the tub of sour cream, which hadn’t even needed to be a new purchase. 

He tucked half of them away in the fridge, keeping the unwarmed tortillas in their package and the chopped _carne asada_ wrapped in aluminum foil to retain heat and juices. He felt just shy of a culinary god, minus the actual confidence that any of what he’d made would taste similar enough to Yuuri’s nostalgic longings.

Washing up, he hopped in the shower after sending a text to Yuuri, mostly of him blowing a kiss to the camera with Makkachin by his side. Yuuri replied with a heart fifteen minutes later; Viktor didn’t catch it until after he was out of the shower, reading the line of text:

_Be home in about half an hour._

He smiled to himself, drying off and humming as he stepped into their bedroom as naked as the day he was born. He had _just_ enough time to prepare the rest of Yuuri’s surprise.

His _special_ taco.

One hundred percent authentic Russian beef.

* * *

Yuuri showered before heading home, wanting nothing more than to relax over good food and curl up on the couch with Viktor to go over more of what they’d worked on that day. Maybe then he’d unwind, catching up on his mobage, or read the email his parents had sent earlier, or lazily scroll through the newest updates on his Instagram feed. While it still annoyed him how things had gotten less and less linear, it did give him an excuse to keep refreshing his feed.

“I’m home!” Makkachin waited with her tail wagging by the entryway, giving Yuuri just enough time to slip out of his shoes before launching into her welcoming frenzy. Still on a high from the endorphins flooding his system going through familiar dance sequences that afternoon, Yuuri laughed and let her get in a few good licks to his face. He prompted her to calm, getting her feet on the floor, rubbing her spit off with the back of his wrist.

“Viktor?” Where was he? Yuuri smelled the results of a promisingly spicy meal wafting through the air, though when he swung by the kitchen, nothing was laid out. He frowned, brow furrowing, mild concern blooming in his chest.

“Yuuri, I’m in the bedroom!”

“Why? Are you not feeling good?”

There were days now and again where Viktor crashed harder than he expected, trying to juggle the impossible task load he’d taken on for the remainder of the current season. Yuuri headed back toward the bedroom, seeing the shut door and frowning even more. He kept Makkachin from pushing through his legs to get into the room as he slipped inside, still talking. 

“Did you order take-away? I didn’t see anything on the counter, but I could smell…”

Yuuri trailed off as he looked up and caught sight of his fiancé lounging in the nude on the gaudiest blanket of yellow and green and red and _orange_. If that wasn’t ludicrous enough, there was an overlarge bell resting on Viktor’s sternum, connected to a broad black choker around his neck. A black and white spotted headband sported two pert little horns and floppy cow-ears with a delicate pink inside. Lazily tossed over one hip and trailing down over Viktor’s thigh was a black and white spotted _tail_ ending in a tuft of white fur. 

There was no logical reason on the Earth he inhabited for Viktor to be dressed up as a cow-boy lying on a… oh. Oh, no. Viktor was lying on a _taco blanket_. The most elaborate blanket Yuuri had ever seen.

“I took the liberty of ordering you one special taco. All beef,” Viktor added, drawing up a knee. His tail slid toward his hip, absurd black tuft brushing against his soft dick.

Was it better or worse that Yuuri warred with both arousal and horror while Viktor seemed utterly and totally relaxed?

He didn’t find an answer, gasping and stumbling back, hands held up in front of him and then pressed to either side of his head. “Viktor! What in the world?”

Viktor’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he tossed one arm back over his head, flopping onto the pillows that had been propping him up. “Yuuri, are you saying you’re not in the _moo_ d?”

“Oh my god.”

“Yes?”

“Oh my _any other god_.”

Viktor’s lips pulled up into a smirking grin. “At least you still think of me as divine—”

“Of course, but Viktor, you’re a beef taco?”

He shifted on the blanket, exposing himself to Yuuri’s eyes in degrees. His raised knee was slowly lowered out to the side as he slid his foot back over the soft fleece and its lettuce and tomato entanglements. “I’m from the special dessert menu.” He winked as Yuuri swallowed a choked laugh, shaking his head. 

Viktor’s expression softened, his smile going lopsided. “I wouldn’t normally suggest dessert before dinner, but in this case, dinner might be the kind of spicy that would leave _this_ dessert off menu for the night.” The hand resting closest to his head fiddled with one floppy cow-ear, tugging on it as his thumb rubbed over the material. Yuuri found it strangely compelling, though maybe it wasn’t strange at all.

Viktor moved Yuuri with everything he did, for better and worse.

  


“If that’s the case…” Yuuri moved toward the bed, tipping his chin down to look at Viktor through his lashes. “I suppose I’ll just have to save a horse and ride a cow-boy.”

Yuuri's face heated at the ridiculous statement, and he bit down on his tongue to avoid apologising and taking it all back immediately. Viktor blinked up at him, breaking out into a broad smile with a laugh that had Yuuri’s lips twitching in turn. 

“Wow, Yuuri!” Viktor tipped his head to the side, exposing the column of his throat as he chuckled. “Looks like you’ll be wanting extra toppings tonight.”

“ _Viktor._ ” Yuuri shucked his shirt, kneeling on the bed and working at undoing his trousers. His face still burned with warmth as he licked his lips, pinning Viktor’s gaze with his own. “Have I ever told you about those mechanical bulls they have in the United States?”

Viktor’s foot caressed the small of Yuuri’s back as he twisted around to sit and shimmy out of his trousers.

“Mm, I don’t think so. Why?”

Yuuri pulled off his socks, tossing them away as he turned to watch Viktor’s face. “No matter how hard the one I rode bucked, it just couldn’t get me off. Think you’ll have any better luck?”

Viktor sat up with a harrumph, still smiling as he dragged Yuuri over and on top of him. The bell bit into Yuuri’s chest; he squirmed and pushed it to the side, where it rested on top of Viktor’s shoulder. “I won’t need luck.” 

“Oh really?” Yuuri’s dubious statement was delivered with a quirk of his eyebrows.

“Mmhm.” Viktor nuzzled against Yuuri’s cheek, pressing a kiss against the corner of his jaw. Yuuri didn’t mind the way it made his glasses go askew on his face. “I’m already the luckiest man alive being with you.”

It wasn’t fair that Viktor could make Yuuri’s heart squeeze tight, overflowing with a love and affection and a touch of happy exasperation, just like that. He eyes teared up in spite of himself, breathing in with a shuddering breath as his fiancé gently nudged his glasses up, carefully unhooking them from behind his ears.

“Oh, Yuuri, Yuuri, don’t cry.” Viktor pressed kisses to the corners of his eyes, his hands cradling Yuuri’s face as Yuuri smiled and gave a small shake of his head.

“I’m happy,” he said, trying to explain. “And I think that I’m the luckiest one here, you know.”

Viktor hummed, a vibration Yuuri felt where their chests met, bearing his weight down on him. “Then it’s my pleasure to give the luckiest man in the world everything he wants. And if he wants to be topping,” Viktor said, pulling his head back just enough to wink and give Yuuri a small, fond smile, “Or be topped, bucked into or bucked off, I’m happy to fulfill each and every fantasy he has.”

Yuuri’s laughter bubbled up from deep in his chest, escaping in a quiet burst as he buried his face beside Viktor’s neck. “For the record? None of my fantasies involved you wearing cow ears.”

Viktor laughed underneath him, barely a rumble that made it out of his throat. “What about having me for dessert?”

Yuuri lifted his face, expression intense. Channeling everything he felt into action was an easier language, though he and Viktor both were learning how to use words to say what it was they needed to say. “Yes. For every day of the rest of my life.”

He captured Viktor’s lips in a heated kiss and proceeded to show him exactly what he meant.

* * *

“I think I’ve revised my opinion on the cow ears.”

Viktor looked at him with his eyebrows quirked, the idle stroking of his fingers through Yuuri’s hair coming to a standstill. “Really?”

“Mmhmm.” Yuuri nuzzled closer, the sweat of their lovemaking cooling on their bodies. He didn’t want to move yet, partly from the pleasant aches he felt in various places, partly because he never liked moving away from Viktor while in the fragile peace of his post-orgasmic haze. “They were kind of cute when they were sliding off your head while you were begging me to go faster.”

Viktor snorted, fingers resuming their motion. “I’m surprised you didn’t fuck them right off me.”

“I tried.” Yuuri offered Viktor a small, lazy smirk, wrinkling his nose at Viktor’s leaning in to kiss the tip of it. “It just didn’t work out as planned.”

“At least you were aiming for the possible. If you’d been trying to get this tail off, that would have been a whole different matter.”

Yuuri found the tail a bit of an annoyance, but it was centered higher on Viktor’s tailbone, and by and large, hadn’t gotten in the way all that much. The statement was odd enough that Yuuri’s brow wrinkled as he pieced together what Viktor meant.

It was a lost cause. He had no idea.

“Why’s that?”

Viktor sighed, the put upon sound of a man who recognised he’d brought about his own burdening. “Because I used something like a medical grade adhesive to get it on.”

Yuuri blinked and burst out laughing, trying to keep quiet but soon guffawing out loud. He shook in Viktor’s arms, burying his face against Viktor’s chest. He heard Viktor’s mock pouting whine, feeling him start to laugh not long after saying, “Yuuuuri!”

The two of them laughed until there were tears in their eyes, rallying for dinner not long after. Yuuri pulled on his trousers and a sweater he nabbed off Viktor’s hangars, Viktor holding his cow tail in hand and frowning at it speculatively. 

“We can work on getting that off right now,” Yuuri said, almost sympathetic to Viktor’s self-brought-on plight. Viktor shook his head, rubbing over his stomach and the two love-marks Yuuri had left there earlier.

“No, no, we need to eat! I’ll work on this after dinner.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting a little longer.”

“I’m sure.” Viktor flashed Yuuri a smile as he strode past him to the door, opening it and waiting for Makkachin to perk up from where she was laying on the couch. “Hello, girl. Time for dinner, right?”

She huffed and jumped down, trotting over to join Viktor as Yuuri lingered a few steps behind. He had to admit, absurd as it was, the tail swishing along independent of how Viktor moved only served to draw Yuuri’s eyes down to his assets. His very fine, beautifully sculpted assets.

He cleared his throat, catching up with Viktor and peering past him into the fridge. Out came bowls of prepared ingredients, Yuuri accepting several from Viktor’s hands to place out on the counter. A giddy sort of excitement rose in his chest, a happiness that crawled right out of the depths of his lassitude to circle around his heart. Viktor had done all this for him. He didn’t really know why, or why _tacos_ , but his mouth was already watering, and as Viktor pulled out a pan for heating up the flour tortillas, he licked his lips in a hunger very different from the one he’d felt earlier.

“You did all this?”

“With some help from the internet,” Viktor said, leaning over to pull a wrapped bundle of aluminum foil out of the oven. “I went for beef, I hope you don’t mind. Not the ground kind, the _asada_ style?”

“You did?” Yuuri picked up the oil and slid it closer to Viktor, then hesitated. He sidled closer, running one hand over Viktor’s shoulder and down his back, feeling bold and forward and like he needed to make yet another claim on this amazing man who’d come waltzing into his life after Yuuri forgot he’d waltzed into his first. Palming one round mound of Viktor’s backside, he squeezed, kissing Viktor’s shoulder at the same time.

“Wow, Yuuri!”

“Let me handle the tortillas, okay? You didn’t bother putting clothes on. No oil burns allowed.”

“Mm,” Viktor said, glancing down his front. “I guess I’m pretty well marked tonight already.”

Yuuri groaned, a mixture of pride and embarrassment at how forward he’d been. He didn’t regret it. With a pat of Viktor’s hip, he took over the job of heating tortillas while Viktor laid out everything on the kitchen island.

Eating next to Viktor as they both tried to keep their tacos from falling apart in their hands was an experience in itself, a happier one than Yuuri expected. The taste wasn’t the same as he remembered, but he had to admit it was almost better. Squeezing a lemon wedge over his second serving of _carne asada_ tacos with a liberal dash of the blended salsa Viktor had cobbled together, Yuuri’s stomach radiated a similar happiness to the one that’d taken hold of his heart.

“Dinner was amazing.” He said as they cleaned up, washing dishes side by side at the sink. 

Viktor leaned over, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s temple. “I’m glad. This was more fun than I expected. Do you think we should do a taco night for Yuri, Georgi, Mila, Yakov, and Lilia?”

“As long as we’re not offering them dinner and a show,” he said without thinking, the mental picture of Viktor lounging on the taco blanket bedecked in his horns, ears, and tail springing to mind so immediately Yuuri doubted he’d ever be able to _stop_ thinking of tacos and cow-boy Viktor in his lifetime.

Viktor was startled into laughing, setting down the dish he was drying and slinging an arm around Yuuri’s waist. “Don’t worry,” he said, kissing Yuuri’s cheek right under the line of his glasses. “I enjoy being your fashionable trophy fiancé, Yuuri, but there are some things that are for your eyes only.”

“Good,” Yuuri said, grumbling and hunching his shoulders in slight self-awareness. He already knew he was the only one in all the world to know Viktor’s love in the way he did. It wasn’t about the sex, but the feeling behind it, and the sense of having a private self they each shared and reserved for each other. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
